He hit another pitch. "About a quarter inch above the $#%$%$% seam," he said.
That ball had a pine-tar scar just a quarter inch above the seam. He called five of seven perfectly, the most amazing display of hitting ability I've ever seen.
Although it must have become obvious by now that I don't like to brag about my somewhat limited accomplishments, I must admit I've given the benefit of my wisdom to a few favored players. One day in Oakland, Sal Bando came up to me and started talking about the slump he was in. "You've seen me enough," he said. "Whaddya think I'm doing wrong? I just can't seem to get my weight moving forward."
In all modesty I know as much about hitting as I do about Alaskan wines, but I wasn't about to admit that. "Yeah, I noticed that, too," I said. "Have you checked the films?"
He said he had, and hadn't seen anything unusual.
"Doesn't surprise me," I said knowingly. "Tell you what," I guessed, "I think maybe you're standing a little too far off the plate. You're seeing the inside pitch good, but you can't reach the outside pitch."
He was skeptical. "You really think that's it?"
"Absolutely. That's probably definitely it. Try crowding the plate a bit."
I was working third base the next day. Bando came out in the first inning and told me he'd checked the films and I might be right. "Watch me when I'm up. I'm gonna get up close and hit the ball out."
"Sure," I agreed, "just crowd the plate."